It’s The Only One You’ve Got
by Soncnica
Summary: Memories have left you broken, and the scars have never healed.


**Ummm…I have no idea where this came from **_bites lip_**…or why I wrote it…I have no clue, but I was seeing it every time I opened my fic's folder and today…I broke and decided to post it…I am completely aware that it sucks, really…it does…so…you don't have to review or hell even read it…it's okay. I just wanted to put it out there, because it would drive me crazy if I would have to look at it one more time. LOL **

**And I don't own anything! Not even the summary, which comes from a 3 Doors Down song called It's The Only One You've Got, which is also the title of this little, ummm long fic…**

**And I am soooo sorry about any grammar/spelling mistake you're gonna find in here...!!  
**

**Enjoy…**

**---**

One kick…ribs. "I hate you." So quiet.

_Crack. _

Another kick…ribs.

_Crack._

One kick…chin. "I HATE YOU!" So loud.

_Blood. _

Three kicks…arm.

_Crack. Bone. White, cracked bone, penetrating from his forearm. _

One kick…nose.

_Crack. Blood. _

Two fast kicks…abdomen. "HATE YOU!" Echoes through the space.

_He moves his once strong, but now weak arms lazily around his middle to clutch at his abdomen. _

One kick…head.

_He gasps out a "stop". A wheezed out "stop". Some blood spills over his eyes, the light greenness of them turning into crimson red. _

Not even that voice stopped him. Not even the voice he listened to his whole life. Not even the voice…the soft voice coming from a bloodied mouth.

Another kick…head.

_Sending the head back, hitting the concrete. The mop of hair is a weak guard to the hard bone. Crack. _

One kick…back.

_Even through his boot he gets the feeling of something snapping there._

And then? Then there was nothing. Nothing but a red splatter of dark blood on his shoes and a slow river of deep, morning sun red on the other man's face. Running into his open mouth, cascading over his once white teeth, running down his eyes, covering them in warm blood. The eyes were open, staring at him, dead. Bloody. Where life and _happiness _shone before there was only death now, no more soul, no more teary, pleading eyes. Dead.

**-:-**

"Sam!"

Dean raised himself from the bed, tangled in sheet and blanket. He breathed, _inout_, _inout_, _inout_, not enough, nearly not enough air to quench his thirst.

"Jesus…son of a bitch."

He wasn't sure if he said that out loud or were the words just a thought in his head. Whatever the case…he repeated them again: "Son of a bitch," a breath, "God."

His eyes met the window, where the orange light was coming from. One car just left the parking lot and shone his headlights directly into his eyes sending little sparks of pain into his brain. He blinked and looked at his brother, who was sleeping peacefully in his own bed. So near, yet so far away. Lips slightly open, to draw in the stale room air and Dean knew Sam was sleeping soundly. For now.

He smiled…Sam was not bloody, nor was he dead. He was just oblivious to the world. _Good._

"Good, good." He wiped his eyes in his hands, feeling the sweat rolling down his face, like rain droplets landing in an already made puddle, hitting his T-shirt. He was soaking wet, if he would squeeze the liquid out, he could fill up a cup…_that's for sure_.

He smacked his tongue once, twice for good measure and licked his dry lips. He needed water, he needed air, he needed to go to the bathroom, he needed to go _away_. He needed for this headache to stop.

_What the hell kind of a dream is that? Freaking unbelievable. _

One more glance towards Sam, lying safe and sound in his bed, his hair falling into his eyes and Dean got this sudden urge to call out to him just to hear him or just to see his eyes. Just something.

But he didn't…he couldn't.

He dwelled on the idea of going to the bathroom, but decided that it would be for the best if he would just lie back down and breathe. His head was pounding, his eyes watering…

The ceiling held the shadow of the tree growing outside…long, thin arms stretching over the orange plains; trying to grab something that wasn't there.

The moving of the branches in the spring wind and Sam's breathing lulled him back to sleep. He was tired, he couldn't ignore that.

You can't ignore your body's desire to sleep no matter how hard you try or how stubborn you are. Or how bad your concussion is.

"Dean?"

He opened his eyes, Sam's voice bringing him back from the edge of his dreams. He snapped to reality pretty fast with the sound of his baby brother's voice. Alive.

"Yeah?" he mumbled to the ceiling.

"You okay, man? Is it your head? You need an aspirin?" a whisper, to silence the screaming in Dean's head.

"Nothing Sam, just go back to sleep. My head's fine." he smiled to the longest shadow of the branch that was petting another branch at the moment.

"And here I was thinking you had a nightmare. Or was in pain."

"Nah, you know me," he smacked his lips together, feeling the dryness of his throat, "no nightmares."

_A lot of pain, though…_

"Yeah, yeah, O.K. You sure you're okay? That blow to your head was…damn Dean, I seriously thought your skull broke in two."

Dean heard the unbelief and fear in Sam's voice, but God it was so nice to hear his voice. That's all he wanted but would never admit to wanting.

"'m fine…'sides that was a day ago."

"Yeah, yeah…okay."

Sam's fidgeting with his blanket and finally winning, got Dean back to the edges of sleep. When he slipped under, he wanted to climb back up. But he was too slow.

**-:-**

One hit to Sam's cheek.

_Split wide open, blood slowly falling down, being soaked up by his shirt's collar. _

One hit to Sam's nose. "I hate you, you little shit."

_Crack. Blood. _

One hit to Sam's other cheek.

_Just a bruise this time around. _

One kick to Sam's head, when he fell on the floor. "I hate you, I HATE you, you little piece of shit."

Kick after kick after kick to all parts of Sam's body that were available to be kicked. His foot hurt, his hand hurt but he couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop. Why would he stop?

"Dean, please." So soft, so barely there, so lost in the sounds of Dean's deep breathing.

One deliberately measured kick to Sam's throat and that was it. "I fucking hate you," he fell on the floor next to the broken body of his baby brother, "Mom's dead, you piece of shit."

He leaned his head into his arms, his elbows resting on his knees and felt one tear slip from his eye. Just one tear and he didn't know…was it for his Mom or Sam? It was just one tear, one tear for someone. He could feel it traveling down his palm…where it went…he didn't know.

His baby brother's blood was running freely now…from everywhere.

Dean sat near the heap of broken bones that once held up his tall brother. His long legs were folded to his chest, hair plastered to his forehead with his blood, his eyes closed shut…stuck together with his own blood. He was grateful for that. He wouldn't be able to look into those eyes, those soulful eyes. Somewhere underneath all the bruises of all colors he knew he would find Sam's mouth, nose, cheeks, ears.

"Mom's dead, she's dead, Sam. She's DEAD! Your fault, 's all your fault…" he was rocking back and forth, his hands still supporting his head; supporting the warmth of his tears, the vibrations of his shaking voice.

There was no response from his brother, no breath, no voice, no eyes…those eyes that, Dean was sure, would speak volumes right now.

He could feel his jeans getting wet and he noticed Sam's blood running into his direction. One slow flow of the red river was disappearing right beneath his jeans. It was still warm, still alive.

He was sitting firmly in his brother's blood and he couldn't care less. He sobbed, maybe laughed a little, or maybe he just woke up.

**-:-**

"SAM!"

He was sure he yelled the word at the top of his lungs, but it was just a sigh. Just a blow of wind coming from his mouth.

"Son of a bitch," he looked at Sam again, "Sammy."

He whispered, and clutched at the blanket, clutched it hard, breaking bones hard to prevent it from reaching out to Sam. He wanted to touch Sam, wanted to see, to feel Sam's warm skin. He wanted to make sure Sam was still breathing. But the way his nostrils were flailing, he was sure Sam was breathing. By the way Sam was snoring softly…_yeah still alive_.

_What the hell? I fucking hate dreaming. That's Sam's territory, not mine. _

"Mom?!" he gasped, choked on the warm, stuffy air in the room.

All he though, all he needed to say was in that word. Mom. The smell, the laughter, the soft skin, the blond hair, the soft lips of a kiss, a hand brushing away his hair, words never spoken and words whispered into his ear, secrets between him and his Mom, a territory where his Dad never went, gentle caresses and sweet, tight hugs. Brush of her hair, when he snuggled near her, her perfume, so sweet, her eyes, so young. Her hands on his back, pushing him on a swing, how easily her hand slipped into his, how warm it was, how soft, how she smiled…that smile…with her eyes…like Sam.

Her death…

He choked; the air was just not in the room anymore. He was swimming in the vacuum of memories…his Mom's, Dad's, Sam's. He griped the blanket, diverting his focus on his hands, on his surroundings, that were fuzzy and spinning at the moment.

He wanted to run, needed to go away, wanted to hide, needed to go someplace where he couldn't hurt Sam. Where Mom was still alive, where they were a family, where he was a Kid tucked safely in his Mom's embrace.

But…

He couldn't leave Sam. Not now, not now when they've just become brothers again. Not now, not ever. Just never. He couldn't do that. To leave the only family he's got left. The only person in the world he can still trust…will ever trust. The only person in the entire world he needs to keep safe, protected…

_No freaking way. Mom. _

He breathed, he needed air. He needed water, he needed for this to stop. He needed for the pounding in his head to stop, he needed for the world to stop spinning, he needed his stomach to stop rolling and clenching and spinning…and…

_Just stop. _

His T-shirt felt too heavy on him, too wet, too much. The blanket that fell on the floor _was I struggling? _gave him the feeling of being completely open. To anyone…to his dreams, to his memories, to Sam. To those branches on the ceiling, to the dry room air, to the dripping water, to the noises Sam was making. To Sam…

"Dean? Man, hey Dean. Dean!"

_Don't have to shout, Sammy. 'm right here, for crying out loud. _

"Sam," he wanted to continue, wanted to say something, anything.

"Dean, man just tell me what's wrong. Is it your head?" Sam was whispering into the pillow, not being able to raise his head just yet, too tired to even find the right words, his mind still in a dark dream of his own. But Dean had freaked him out.

"It's just so dry in here, 'm just thirsty." Dean rasped out.

"Dude, come on," Dean heard the rustling of the sheets and squeaking of the bed when Sam's body left the mattress, "I'll get you some water and an aspirin."

"Sam, you…"

He was interrupted by the sound of running water in the bathroom and soon a cup of water was shoved into his face. Sam's tall form was hovering above him and he felt exposed to those eyes. Even though he was wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants, without the blanket, without its comforting pressure, he felt completely naked. For Sam to see everything his soul tried so hard to hide. So damn hard, but still not hard enough.

"Well, will ya just take the glass, or else I'm gonna pour it down your throat."

"I…ah…yeah." He raised himself from the bed and reached his hand towards the offered glass. A second before he collided with the glass he noticed his hand shaking like a leaf on a rainy day. He cursed inwardly and sped up his hand trying so hard not to make it real.

He wanted the glass, wanted to quench his thirst but Sam didn't let go. The tips of their fingers collided above the surface that held the cold water. He could feel Sam's warm hand through the glass, and that was just one more proof that Sam was alive and well.

"Dean…"

Just one word, a freaking name, a freaking name and he didn't know what to say.

"Sam…"

Yeah 'Sam' is as good of a word as any.

"Dean, just tell me what's wrong."

He raised his eyes from the water that was almost spilling over the cup, when their combined grip on it started to shake. Or was he shaking? Sam was sure not shaking.

"Shit, Dean."

_What? _

Then he felt it. The cold liquid clashing with his lap, drenching his sweatpants, running down to the mattress, only to make room under his thighs. He felt as if he was still in his dreams, sitting in his baby brother's blood.

He breathed. It was the only thing he knew how to do at the moment.

"Okay, ah, here. Wipe yourself off with this."

A green towel was pushed into his arms. He felt himself shaking, shaking so bad he was sure he was gonna loose a limb.

"Here let me." he could feel Sam's hands on him, felt the towel come out of nowhere to wipe away the _blood _water.

Before his senses kicked in he was tucked in bed, not his own, because his eyes landed on the table not the window, and it was warm. So warm.

"Dean, what happened? What's wrong?"

Sam was there somewhere on his right. He shifted his gaze and saw those shiny eyes, almost glassy with worry, almost transparent in a way.

Dean saw Sam raise his hand and touch his forehead…his brother's hand was huge, warm and he wanted to sink into the touch so bad. His head was killing him, a headache so strong, it was like someone was ripping his brain to shreds.

"Dean," Sam moved his warm hands around Dean's head, resting his palm on Dean's sweaty nape, "how bad is it? How bad does it hurt?"

Dean was lost; staring into the ceiling, with Sam's hair obscuring half of his view, with Sam's eyes so close he could see the color of them even in the half light of an early morning sun.

"Dean," there was panic in Sam's voice and Dean blinked, which send a shiver through his spine, "you feel sick? Gonna throw up?"

Sam checked Dean's pupils: "Damn it, Dean," seeing them be dilated, huge as a saucer.

Dean blinked, when Sam let go of his eyelids…the headache, the concussion, his dreams…it all mixed together into a cocktail of pain and denial and…_Sam, help me_.

"Sam, I, ah…don't feel so good." Dean choked on the words, his head splitting in two, judging by the pain he felt.

"Okay, okay, hospital."

Sam started pulling his brother up by his arms: "Come on, up…I gotcha, come on," supporting all of his weight, when Dean collapsed forward, hitting his chin on Sam's shoulder: "Dean," his voice was shaking, "Dean…no, no, no…Dean!!"

**SNSN**

A groan filled the car, and Sam turned a little to his right, glancing at Dean.

"Dean? Gotta stay awake man…come on."

**-:-**

_Blood, everywhere blood…Sam's blood…his body broken…broken arms, legs, neck…dead eyes…_

**-:-**

A gasp filled the car and Sam tore his eyes away from the road again.

"Dean…'s gonna be okay, we're almost there." the shaking in his voice could rock a baby to sleep.

**-:-**

"_You killed Mom, 's your fault."_

_His baby brother's pleas for him to stop hitting…but he ignored them…threw them away and kicked harder…breaking bones and finally Sam's neck._

**SNSN**

"Your brother has a concussion, we're monitoring him but the results say that there's nothing seriously wrong with him. He'll be just fine once he wakes up. All right?"

"When?"

"When will he be waking up?"

"Yeah…"

"It's up to him, it could be in an hour or eight. But he'll be fine. It's just a concussion."

With a pat on Sam's shoulder the doctor left him to sit by his brother's bed, machines beeping their annoying _beep, beep, beep_…but the _beep, beep, beep _meant his brother was alive and okay.

_He just needs to wake up. Right now would be awesome, Dean._

How could one hit on the head lead them here!? Into the sterile, white room of a hospital with an antiseptic smell to knock out a horse!?

Sam shook his head and leaned back, sinking into the chair.

_Just our luck, I guess…_

"'s not your fault, Sammy."

The voice of his big brother pulled him back from dreaming to the real world.

"Dean?" he leaned closer, his finger already on the button to call for a nurse.

"'s not your fault, it never was." Dean's voice sounded like someone threw sand into his vocal chords.

"Dean, you're in a hospital…you have a concussion, but you'll be fine."

"Mom…it was never your fault. Never blamed you." Whisper over the _beep, beep, beep_.

"Dean, what…What are you saying?"

"God, my head…"

Sam saw Dean frown and clench his eyes together, his mouth letting out a quiet sob.

"Dean, just go back to sleep. I'll be right here, in this hard chair here." _Watching out for ya._

"Sammy…"

And Dean got lost in a dreamless sleep, with Sam sinking back into the chair next to the bed.

**SNSN**

"Dean, ummm…what did you mean when you said that it wasn't my fault and then you were mentioning Mom?" _  
_

Dean was behind the wheel of his baby, driving slowly down the road, with nothing on his mind, but the fastest way of getting the hell out of the city.

"Nothing, Sam…I had a concussion…concussed people are delirious. Nothing to worry 'bout." _  
_

"You sure? Because you sounded really into it." _  
_

"Sam…don't."_  
_

"Don't what? Mention Mom? Mention what happened to her? How she died? Where she died? We're not kids anymore, we can talk about this."

Anger swelled in Dean...he wanted to punch something and punch it until he bled.

"Well I don't wanna grow up and I don't wanna talk about this. Sam drop it."

"Dean there is something bothering you, I can tell…just tell me."

Dean clenched his jaw and swallowed down a scream: "There's nothing to talk 'bout. I just had a dream… I was sick and you can't blame a sick man for saying stuff."

"What dream?"

"Nothing."

"Dean…"

"I was," he cleared his throat, "I was dreaming about Mom and the way she was and all."

Sam nodded, his eyes slowly filling up with salty water: "But you said that you didn't blame me…"

He left the sentence open, hoping Dean would end it.

"It was just some stupid dreams, Sammy…just a dream…you have one of those too, so…just…drop it."

"Dean, man…please. I can see that it's killing you…please."

Dean drove on, clenching his jaw, biting at the insides of his mouth, wanting so bad to yell at Sam to _just shut up and stop psychoanalyzing me_. He can't tell Sam what he dreamed about, he can't say it out loud; that would make it real and it would break his brother. He can't do that to Sam…can't say it…can't…

But the truth is…he can't stop thinking about the dreams. Mom.

With a muttered: "Damn it, Sam." Dean pulled the car over, landing its tires in a ditch.

Sam looked at him, not really sure what's going on. He saw his brother; eyes fixed straight ahead, teeth scraping his lower lip, the sun stretching its rays over Dean's hair.

"Dean, what are you…"

"I had a dream…"

Sam knew he shouldn't interrupt Dean right now…

"I was beating you to death, Sam." he laughed a tired laugh.

Not the right moment to interrupt…

"You were dead and I was still beating the crap out of you."

He could hear Dean's voice fill up with tears, but this was still not the right time to interrupt.

"I called you a little shit."

Maybe this was the right time to interrupt, but Sam bit his tongue.

"I blamed you for Mom dying." If Dean would have lowered his voice just a little more, he wouldn't be talking at all.

"Why were you…" Sam choked on his own tears, not wanting to let them fall.

"I don't know, Sammy. I really don't know, but Sam…that thought never even crossed my mind…or Dad's…I don't even know why I was dreaming that."

"Dean, I know…you don't…Mom died…maybe she did die because of me…I mean the demon wanted me."

"What?" Dean snapped and turned his head towards Sam faster then the speed of light.

"You sure you never blamed me?"

"Sam are you…no, never. It wasn't your fault, nothing was your fault…Mom, Jess, Dad…you hear me!? Nothing."

"Yeah, but…I've been thinking it too…that you did…I mean after what happened with Max…I just…"

"Max's Dad was a sick psycho…I mean you can't blame a baby for that…Sammy…you gotta believe me on this one."

Sam cleared his throat: "Yeah, okay. All right."

"Sam…"

"I believe you…you never…and Dad never…never _hurt_ me."

"We could never _hurt _you…me, Dad…we did our best to protect you…I still do."

_You're the only one I have left, Sammy…with Dad dead and Mom dead…you're the only one, and I'll die before I let anything happen to you. _

"Yeah, I know."

"You sure you do?"

From all the thoughts that Sam was drowning in, he always knew Dean never ever blamed him for their Mom's death. Right? Dean never showed any signs of that…right? Sure they never talked about Mom all that often, not even when they were Kids, but that was just because Dean was hurting, right? All those things Dean did for him, with him, to him…it was love, right? Dean always protected him, right? If he would blame him for his Mom's death, he could've let him die on numerous occasions, right? He always kept him safe, right? Always there, right? Even when Dad was nowhere to be seen, right? Always backing him up, right? Always taking care of him, right?

_Right…_

"I…yeah…'m sure."

"Sammy, man," Dean smiled, "Mom was beautiful, you know? Like really beautiful."

"Yeah, I know…she was."

"Miss her, ya know."

"I know. I miss her too. And Dad."

"Yeah…" Dean bit his lower lip, and smiled, the previous conversation completely swept under the rug: "Okay then…we over with this? Or are you gonna lobotomize me and suck something else out of me?"

"Ugh, wouldn't wanna get anywhere near your head."

Dean smiled but when he looked back at Sam, he could see unshed tears lingering in his brother's lashes.

After one beat of a heart, Sam opened his mouth: "You gonna be okay?"

"I'll get back to you on that."

"You have to come back to me on a lot of things, man."

Dean sighed: "Sammy, look…we have a new case, the sun is shining, it's spring, it's warm, my baby is full of gas, the road is empty, 'm healed…let's just go…"

Dean could literally feel Sam thinking about this, turning and twisting this thing in his mind and: "Well I agree with everything else, but you're head's still a mess."

Dean snorted: "You tellin' me, you should know first handed…you and your freaky brain."

"Hey, me and my freaky brain are related to you so…"

"That's your comeback? I don't even know what you mean by that."

"Just goes to prove…"

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

**--- **

**The End**

**Ha, I think I finally figured out what was bothering me about this fic…it's like…Dean has the nightmare, right?…and when he and Sam finally talk, I made it like Dean is comforting Sam, right!? But it should totally be the other way around, with Sam going all protective on Dean…Well, duh…of course Dean would comfort Sam…Dean would do anything to protect his little brother…God, how stupid am I? OK, 'm good about this fic now, just had to think about this out loud, I guess...LOL **_hits her head on the table….stupid, stupid, stupid!!! ouch... _


End file.
